Labor Disgraces No Man
by nanno
Summary: One summer afternoon in Chicago, 1877.


**a/n: **something short i originally wrote in 2011, with some initial inspiration taken from_ the jungle _by upton sinclair. this takes place at the yards, a meatpacking district in chicago. the company mentioned is armour and co., but specifics are a little spotty and i have no idea if alfred could just walk in like he does–but hey, it's alfred, right?

oh, and some of my, uh, personal opinions come across quite clearly in this. just a warning.

* * *

He appeared in front of the yard that day, a stranger that had just come from nowhere and existed only for that moment, right in that dirty little city, and left just as suddenly as he came. Everything about him was fresh and young; his hair was pure gold; his eyes were clear and blue like Midwestern sky; his smile bright and boyish. He wore glasses that were clean and well-kept as the rest of his clothes, which were crisp and spoke of wealth. Instead of the dark, rough hands and harsh faces of the workers he was spotless, smooth, uncalloused. He'd clearly never seen a day of work in his life–never knew what it was like to slit the neck of a pig while it was hanging upside-down and still alive and screaming; never knew what it was like to be so appalled with the sight of what capitalism had brought men to, the senseless exploitation of wealth and resources, that the very idea of equality in this country was laughable–standing out in the yard with its dirt and its filth like a peacock among pigeons.

He captured every man's attention immediately.

Straight out of college, he was, but he didn't look a day beyond his teens. Aimed for the government, but wanted to get some practical experience. Wanted to learn where things came from, what his people thought, how he could make their lives better–a brand of idealism characteristic of boys his age, straight out of school and ignorant of how the world worked. Men knew better than to put their faith into the promises of politicians who spouted words of hope, because who would be a voice for the average, working man for long when businesses were growing more and more powerful, day by day? It was easy to promise better conditions and higher wages and humanity, but even easier to give into the demands of the wealthy, always whispering in your ear _more subsidies, more tariffs, more money_.

He'd only be there for the day, maybe two or three, just so he could have some experience. He didn't need pay or anything, just wanted to talk to the workers and try some things with his own hands. If the company lost money because of him, he would compensate. The manager let him in with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile, because there was no fear of losing money or workers through the reformation efforts of some upstart politician who would probably find that things were a lot harder in D.C. than the mind of a teenaged boy could imagine. The men watched him with suspicion, because money is indicative of people who only cared about themselves.

"Hullo," they remember him saying pleasantly, with his broad, boyish smile. "I'm Alfred! I hope I can be of service to you."

The men gave him a job that would satisfy him, and would not suffer much if he performed it poorly. They did not mind his presence as much as they wanted to make sure it would not jeopardize their job.

"Pigs are actually relatively clean animals, did you know?" Alfred said informatively, as he took in the sight of the hundreds of pigs that had been brought into the yard, ready to go into the slaughterhouse to be killed and packaged into meat, soap, adhesives, drugs, and everything else they could think of–"everything but the squeal"–with the frightening efficiency that Armour and Company prided itself with. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt, ready to work.

He was much better at this than expected from his appearance, and the men were willing to allow him the chance to try other things. Rather than the naive and timid work that seemed would be fitting for him, he took on his tasks without hesitation and performed them well after a few attempts to ease him into the job. He slit the throats of the squealing pigs without any indication of discomfort, like a war veteran who had done and seen enough stabbing with his bayonet to do it elegantly and without any reluctance into the body of his enemy. He cleaved their bodies right in half with ease that suggested strength greater than what any of the other men had. He did not show any sign of disgust at the blood and gore of the slaughterhouse, paying no heed when his hands and clothing turned red.

Though initially chatty, Alfred found himself lost in a deep concentration, but his movements were so effortless that it seemed more as though he was keeping quiet in order to make sure the other men would not become distracted and cause an accident than for his own purposes. He was purposeful, his silence leaving him with a calm demeanor that seemed to catch on to the others.

At the end of the day, he wiped the sweat off his forehead–smearing a little blood on it in return–and smiled.

"I'm glad I was here today. That was really, really enlightening," he said to some of the men as they recovered from work, ready to leave for home. "It's so tough, I bet, to have to work so hard but never be certain if you're safe."

There were murmurs in agreement. There was something in this boy, they realized, that made them want to put hope in him, like he was listening to their every desires and dreams and would stop at nothing to find a way through. He had this effect, as if he was the very idea of chance and equal opportunity in the form of a man who had the chance and opportunity to make it happen for everyone else.

"Anyways, I might be staying here for a few days to get a feel of city life," he continued, because everyone's eyes were on him at that point. "Then I'll be heading back for D.C. To tell the truth, I actually have a job up in the White House already, but I recently switched to a new boss, and there was a bit of controversy so I realized I needed to get away from the stiff politics of the capital and do something. You get it?"

They didn't really, but that was okay because if they cared for politics they would have. It was surprising that a boy that seemed so fit for the gritty labor of the slaughterhouse had at some point walked the commanding halls of the capitol building, but somehow expected in a way they didn't understand.

Alfred grinned. "You men have my full support. I don't know how long it'll take for there to be improvement, but if it doesn't happen in this lifetime, have hope for your children, all right? That's what America is all about."


End file.
